


The Nature of Grief

by nonbinarycoded



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, caduceus is going to pole vault his ass over beau's emotional walls if it's the last thing he does, talks about death and grief
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-05
Updated: 2018-09-05
Packaged: 2019-07-07 12:11:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15908025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nonbinarycoded/pseuds/nonbinarycoded
Summary: As much as she's loath to admit it, Beau might, maybe, perhaps still be vaguely upset over losing one of her best friends. Caduceus can't let that stand.





	The Nature of Grief

So, it wasn't that Beau didn't like change. Not exactly. When you ran the sort of jobs she used to run, you had to be okay with change. You had to be prepared for anything that might come up so you could shift the plan accordingly. And Beau was good at thinking on her feet, alright, improvising had practically been her specialty. And sure, the Cobalt Soul had really only appreciated thinking on your feet in battle and sticking to a strict, awful schedule the entire rest of the goddamn time— _apparently 'I'm just practicing changing things up like Expositor Dain told me to,' was not an acceptable excuse for shirking studying, which was bullshit, but whatever_ —but it wasn't like she'd become unused to things changing.

So the group was different without—The group was different now. And that was _fine,_ okay, stop _asking_ about it already. She swore if one more person asked her if the change was getting to her she was going to bash their fucking nose in and _yeah_ that made it sound like she wasn't really okay with it but that _wouldn't matter_ if people would _leave her the fuck alone_ about everything and stop trying to pry—

"Hey Beau, you feeling alright?"

"I'm _fine._ " It took every ounce of self restraint she'd ever been taught not to whip around and see what it looked like when you gave a firbolg a black eye. "Fuck off."

"...Yeah, uh, I could be wrong here, but people who are fine don't usually look like they're gonna pop a blood vessel right about—"

Beau could feel his hand coming towards her face, and her arm darted out to snag it midair. She turned around and glared up at Caduceus. "Don't."

"...There," Caduceus said anyways, gesturing weakly towards her temple. "Can I have my hand back? I'm worried I'm gonna start losing feeling in it soon."

Beau squinted at him a moment longer, but let his hand go. It fell limply to Caduceus's side. "Did you need something?"

"You just looked sort of stuck in your own head, is all."

"And you care because?" Beau knew she was being overly hostile; Caduceus hadn't done anything to deserve this much anger, but _fuck,_ she hadn't wanted anyone to see her like this, least of all him, so if he could just cut this whole act so she could go back to brooding in peace, she'd appreciate it.

"Because I care about you?" He said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Beau didn't know why that made it worse, but it did.

"Well, you should maybe cut that out."

"And why might that be?"

Beau's mind was at war with itself. One half was yelling about unnecessary hostility and misplaced anger and burning bridges that should probably stay whole; the other half was blaring an alarm that rang to the tune of 'someone's trying to get around the walls you put up, _fight back'._

It's hard to listen to much else when you've got an alarm screaming in your ears. "Oh, no. No. I see what you're doing."

"What?"

"You're not gonna trick me into like, talking about my feelings or whatever."

"...Do you feel like you need to do that?"

What the hell kind of question even was that? "No."

Caduceus looked unconvinced. "I mean, alright. You know where to find me if you need me."

Wait, what?

"...Wait, what? What do you mean alright?"

"I mean alright? I'm not gonna make you talk about stuff you don't want to talk about. If you say things are fine, then either things are fine or whatever's not fine isn't my business." Caduceus shrugged.

Shit. Okay, see, this was a problem. Because yeah, the more Beau thought about it, the more talking things out seemed like a good idea. But she'd just brushed Caduceus off, and usually she'd go to Caleb, but she had no idea where he was, and she didn't know how to drag this conversation back onto allowing her to talk about what was bothering her without seeming like sort of a jackass, but she probably already seemed like sort of a jackass anyways so Caduceus probably didn't even want to hear—

"...Your temple's doing the thing again."

Beau blew out a long breath. He really wasn't making this easy. "I'm not..." she began carefully, each word another hurdle. "Used to people trying to get me to talk about when things are wrong."

"That's terrible." Beau searched his face for any trace of pity, but there was none. Just surprise. "I mean, like I said, I'm not going to make you talk about stuff you don't want to talk about. If it's not my business it's not my business.

"But," he said, after a long pause, "If you find yourself wanting to talk about it, I'm a listening ear. Two of them, even!" He grinned lopsidedly, and shit, okay, it was weird when humans could wiggle their own ears, seeing someone with cow ears do it was extra weird. "You know where my door is."

He was so _genuine._ Beau wasn't used to genuine. "...Thanks."

"Yeah, of course." And then he was leaning in and an arm was pulling Beau into a side hug and _whoa_ she was only barely coming around to the idea of talking about things so she had _not_ signed up for physical contact—

Caduceus felt her tense and let go. "Too far?"

"...Yeah. Uh." She held out a fist. "This is more my speed."

Caduceus stared at it.

"...You're supposed to—You—" Beau reached down and grabbed Caduceus's wrist, then brought his hand up to hers. He made a fist at the last second, and she tapped them together. "Like that."

"...And you people are calling me weird." It wasn't an insult; it was almost good-natured.

"Because you are."

"Sure." The lighthearted teasing came easily. It turned Beau's stomach. "I'll see you around, Beau."

* * *

So like, the thing was, Beau didn't really _need_ to talk about things. And okay, yes, that didn't sound great, it actually sounded exactly like what someone would say if they _did_ need to talk about things. But she _didn't_. Really. So she was sort of upset, what about it? Who cared?

Caduceus, apparently.

Which, for the record, was both stupid and the worst possible scenario. She didn't need his help. She especially didn't need his fucking pity about this whole situation, because even if he wasn't really coming in and trying to replace—replace anyone, he was still standing in a slot that wasn't his, and Beau only let herself get upset that that slot was open at all once in a blue moon but that didn't mean that she wanted to talk to _him_ about everything—

She knocked on his door.

"It's open!"

Beau rested a hand on the handle, then hesitated. Did she really want to do this? The answer to that was a resounding no, so maybe that was the wrong question. Did she _need_ to do this?

The answer was also probably no, but there was a very brief amount of time, exactly as long as it had taken her to get up from her room and walk to his, that she'd convinced herself that the answer could possibly be a soft _maybe._

She lingered long enough that Caduceus stood up and answered the door himself. He looked surprised to see her. "Oh. Hey. Finally come to take me up on being someone who'll listen?"

Beau didn't know what did it. Maybe it was the genuine, upfront concern that she was so unused to seeing, let alone receiving. Maybe it was that he actually remembered saying that, which meant it hadn't been a casual offer. Maybe she was just stressed. She opened her mouth, felt her voice begin to catch, and nodded.

There was no pity. He simply stepped aside from the door and gestured inside. Come on in, then. Want some tea to talk over?"

That snapped her out of whatever the fuck had just come over her. "Depends. Is it your weird dead people tea?"

"I don't understand what you think is so weird about it. But no, I ran out of that and don't have a good way to get more unless we stop by the grove. There's a tea shop uptown, I stopped by yesterday. You've got my word that to the best of my knowledge, this tea did not come from dead people."

"Then yeah, sure."

Caduceus set about heating water under a small clay kettle while Beau sprawled on the floor nearby. Beau thought the silence was tense—maybe that was just her own anxiety demanding to know why she'd thought this was a good idea. She waited for Caduceus to ask her what was wrong, or why she'd shown up, or _literally anything_ so she didn't feel like she was just dumping all her gross fucking worry and anger and guilt onto him.

He said nothing.

"...You heal people, right?" God, okay, that was a stupid question. Great way to start, Beau.

"Among other things, but that's where some of my magic goes, yeah."

"What happens when you can't, like..." Beau floundered. Caduceus shot a curious glance at her, but she pretended not to notice. She already didn't want to be having this conversation; eye contact was only going to make it harder. "...What happens when you can't?"

"When I can't heal them?"

"...Yeah."

The silence stretched again. Caduceus finished fiddling with the teapot and left it to heat, then sat on the floor across from Beau. He kept trying to meet her eye; she kept staring determinedly at a board in the wall. "...I think I know what this is about."

Fuck. She knew she'd have to work up to telling him what was actually happening eventually, she was just hoping she could put it off. "Yeah?"

"I don't think you really want to talk about how death's a natural part of life, do you?"

Her throat tightened. _No_ , she absolutely was not going to start choking up here. Not in front of him. Not in front of _anyone_ , but especially not him. She cleared her throat. "Not... Not really. No."

"Why don't you tell me about him?"

"What?"

"Tell me about him. What was he like?"

"...I don't see why I should—"

"I'll explain afterwards. Just talk for now."

Beau didn't quite know where to start. How did one begin to describe him? The dead deserved respect, right? What was something respectful she could say?

"He was... he was really fuckin' weird."

Caduceus laughed, and before she could stop herself, she was laughing too. The laughter popped the cork—suddenly there were words aplenty. She told Caduceus about how she'd met him, about how he dressed and acted and spoke, about his hangups with whether or not people 'deserved' bad things done to them. She told him about the group of bandits, and how he'd stopped anyone from hurting each other. She told him about how he'd waltzed right into their group, and left it better than when he'd found it. She told him about how bickering, talking, breathing had been just a little easier with him around. She told him about their weird drug trip—Caduceus got a laugh out of that. He listened intently, never interrupting, only asking questions to prompt her on. The water finished heating, and he set the kettle between them and dropped a small ball of leaves inside. They watched it bloom into a flower as it began to color the water inside.

She talked through the tea steeping, through the drinks being poured and then drunk, through the sun setting outside. She didn't know why she was telling Caduceus so much, but he didn't seem to mind. On the contrary; he seemed to be enjoying all of the stories. So she told him everything. Every bit of it, all the way through to the grisly end. Somewhere along the line she'd started crying. He never once pointed it out, and even if she never said it, she was grateful for that. She didn't know at what point in the talk he'd stopped being 'this stranger trying to fit where he didn't belong' and started being someone easy to talk to, but the longer she talked, the less resistant she was to talking more. Was this why people talked about their feelings? She couldn't picture being used to this exactly, but it was nice.

"...And now he's... he's really gone, I guess. You did your whole—" she waved a hand in the air, "—magic thing on his grave. And he's... he's gone." She sniffed and wiped her nose on the sleeve of her robe. "...Gross."

"He seems like he made a real impact on you all," Caduceus said, fiddling with his long-since-empty cup in his hands.

"Yeah. He—He changed us. He did good things, you know? Why the fuck does someone who did good things deserve to be—And I'm—" Breathing was suddenly harder; she took a shuddering breath.

"You know, it's rough to hear, but sometimes it's not a matter of deserving it."

"That's fucking stupid though," Beau mumbled.

"Maybe. But that doesn't change it. With stuff like that, the most we can really do is live with it, you know?" That wasn't any less stupid, Beau thought, but she didn't say anything. "Look, I know it hurts that your friend's dead. I'll be honest with you, it's probably going to hurt for a really long time."

"Don't... Don't use that word."

"What word? Dead?"

Beau winced. "Hey, when someone tells you not to use a word, generally you're not supposed to use it again immediately."

"Why shouldn't I say it?"

"Because—" Beau paused. Why _shouldn't_ he say that? "Because it sounds so... harsh," she said, finally. "It's so final. Say—say gone or something instead."

"Gone's a way more permanent word, in my opinion."

"What?"

"Why do you think I asked you to tell me so much about him?"

"...I thought it was to let me get stuff off my chest, but now I think you're trying to make some big point and I refuse to help."

"Beau, people die. It's hard. It's really, _really_ hard sometimes. Because people get caught up in whether or not they deserved it, or whether it could have or 'should have' been someone else. Or worst of all, they get stuck trying to figure out whether or not a death _meant_ something. That line of thinking is such a trap, whether or not a death _means_ something. Because it convinces people that there are good deaths, but by extension, there are also _bad_ deaths.

"There's no such thing as a bad death. _Sad_ deaths, sure, absolutely. I'm not gonna sit here and try to dictate how sad people are allowed to be about losing someone. Be sad, be angry and upset and all the negative feelings. Everyone's gotta grieve somehow. But if you get hung up on whether or not a death was meaningful, it stops you from finishing that grieving.

"See, grief likes the question _what if._ 'What if it had been me?' 'What if they'd survived that fall, or that blow, or that sickness?' 'What if they'd gotten a just, righteous end? One that actually _meant_ something?' Grief likes that stuff because it doesn't let you stop grieving. If you're stuck on imagining what life would be like if someone hadn't died, you're never gonna move on. Not truly. And the insistence that a death's gotta be meaningful and powerful is just another way to rehash the same daydream everyone has, 'what if they were still here with me?'

"All death is is the next stage of whatever it is we've got going on here. That's all. _Gone_ is a really permanent word—that'd mean he wasn't anywhere anymore. He's not gone, he's somewhere. It's just not here. And that's sad, and it hurts, so take the time you need to grieve and wish things were different, but afterwards, you've gotta pick yourself up and dust yourself off. I let you tell me about all that so you can start to get around the 'what if' hangups you've got. And because you _really_ seemed like you needed a good cry over everything. We're all gonna catch up to him one day, so let yourself move on for now."

That... was more comforting than Beau cared to admit. She sat and processed it all, and for the first time since everything had happened, she let the grief of everything settle over her. It was heavy, and it sucked, and she hated it, but at least it wasn't consuming like it had been.

Caduceus's eyes had become more and more distant and unfocused the longer he spoke; he shook his head and blinked a few times, and looked significantly more present than he had. "...That was sort of heavy. You alright?" Beau opened her mouth to brush the question off, but the words stuck in her throat. She shrugged. Caduceus slowly held an arm out. "...You wanna hug?"

Beau scoffed and shook her head. There was a pause, and Caduceus scooted closer. "...You sure?"

Beau shook her head again, then sniffled loudly. She bit down on her pride so hard it very nearly clipped in half— _nobody else is going to see, you're fine—_ and moved into Caduceus's side. He slung his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close.

"...I never even got to say goodbye," Beau muttered, burying her face in her hands. Her shoulders began to shake again, and Caduceus held her tighter.

"You know, that might be a good thing."

"Why?"

"You only say goodbye when people are gone. If you don't say goodbye, they're not gone, they're just not around right now. What you got was a really sudden 'until next time'."

Beau nodded and leaned further into his side. Some part of her was still grasping at phrases like 'this is bullshit' and 'why do you care so much,' but she found it easier than normal to push those to the side. Fucking Caduceus making her acknowledge her feelings.

"...Thanks." The word was hardly a croak, but Caduceus seemed to understand it just fine.

"Sure thing. You know, you're welcome to come back and have one of these talks with me whenever you want."

Beau took a deep breath to steady herself. She felt a little bit lighter with everything off her chest, although that was probably from just how much she'd just cried. "Okay, seriously, what is it with you and Caleb trying to get me to talk about shit?"

"It's good for you. Nobody's an island."

"Not only am I an island, I've got a fucking moat around it with sharks and shit in it. Fuck you."

"...How do you put a moat around an island? Wouldn't that just be the ocean?"

"...Fuck you."

"Well, I'm here for you either way. If you ever wanna jump off the island for a little while, I've got a pretty nice bridge over here. It's got neat lights and significantly less shark-infested water."

"This metaphor's getting weird. If you're telling me to come talk to you more, I'll think about it."

Caduceus smiled. "That's all I ask."

 


End file.
